Messenger
by Chichuri
Summary: Someone had to tell the Bishops that Olivia was missing.


**Spoilers:** Through the promo for 1.11

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Fringe_ or its characters.

**Author's Note:** Little speculation bit, about to go non-canon in a week when the hiatus is (finally!) over. Thanks to Alamo Girl for convincing me to expand and post this, and for beta help.

**Messenger**

Astrid stifled a yawn as she hurried down the echoing stone hallway, blinking away the burn of exhaustion compounded by hours staring at a computer screen. The phone call had come in at two in the morning, and she'd been throwing herself into the investigation ever since. For the first time she understood Agent Dunham's—Olivia's—obsessive drive, the dedication she brought to every case that crossed her desk. The willingness to chase after every lead, no matter how improbable, how insane.

Astrid just hoped she'd have a chance to share this insight with the senior agent.

She stopped at the worn wooden door she had walked through a hundred times and stared through the frosted glass blankly, reluctant to go in. Even when she'd come back after Walter stabbed her in the neck with a sedative-filled syringe, it hadn't been this difficult.

But no one else had bothered to talk to the Bishops, to see what they knew or could find out. Every lead, no matter how improbable, right? Besides, someone should have followed up on this one immediately.

_She_ should have followed up on this one immediately.

She slipped inside. Walter, as always, was oblivious to her entrance, focused on whatever obsession drove him today. Peter, as always, noticed. And from the way he shot to his feet, her poker face needed work.

Of course it did. She didn't have the years of experience Olivia and Peter had at hiding their feelings. Or the experience that Olivia, Peter, and Walter all had at reading them.

She swallowed and steeled herself as she walked down the stairs, doubting _these_ reactions would be all that hard to figure out. "Have you heard from Olivia today?"

"No, why?" His eyes sharpened and he went completely still. "What's wrong?"

Astrid's slender hope that Olivia might have contacted the rest of her team died. She took a deep breath and confessed, "She's missing."

"How long?" He stared down at her, arms crossed and expression intent. Deadly serious.

She stalled. This is why she'd dreaded coming: looking him in the face and answering to why he hadn't been roused from his bed like so many others last night. Why he hadn't been called to help, or at least to _know_. "How long what?"

He shook his head impatiently and a muscle in his jaw twitched. "How long has she been missing?"

She took a deep breath, and kept her recitation as impersonal as possible. Or tried to. Reporting the facts to a superior of sorts, no personal feelings interfering. "Agent Francis discovered her car at a quarter after one last night. She disappeared en route to Little Hill airfield."

"And what, you're only thinking to notify me about this now?"

Walter raised his head, attention probably caught by the increasing volume of Peter's voice and the bite in his words, but was uncharacteristically silent. Perceptive enough to recognize a situation where it was better not to be noticed, and smart enough, for once, to follow up on that perception. Astrid didn't look at the elder Bishop, didn't dare look away from the younger.

She didn't mention that official search efforts had been preoccupied with scouring for evidence, or that Agent Francis was concerned that Peter, being the only civilian with access to Olivia's whereabouts last night, could have played a part in her disappearance. She didn't think Peter would care. "Broyles didn't think you needed to be concerned with the matter."

The furrow between his brows deepened. "Needed to be concerned—Astrid, Olivia's my _friend_. The fact that you people have somehow... _misplaced _her concerns me a great deal." He moved finally, stalking three steps to the opposite lab bench then back to crowd her personal space. "Even if Broyles didn't realize it, _you _should have."

Astrid flinched against the implicit accusation. She could see in Peter's eyes, in the way he held himself, that his concern was giving way to something darker, angrier. Only her FBI training kept her from taking a step back. "Peter, I couldn't—"

He interrupted her, voice cold and clipped. Dismissive. "Broyles. Where is he?"

"At the Federal Building coordinating— where are you going?"

"To find Olivia."

Astrid watched him stalk out, his cold fury echoing through every step, and couldn't doubt that at all. And hoped she was right, that this lead, this improbable one she set in motion, would eventually end in Olivia's return.

She almost felt sorry for anyone who stood in his way.

Almost.

_________________

Concrit is always welcome.


End file.
